“There was a suspicious French fishing-boat lately seen knocking around Rozel,” acutely said Alaric Hobbs. “We also found the bloody trail where they dragged their wounded away down to the beach. And so they are off on the sea, with your valuable plunder. No one knows the dead scoundrel up there.” “But we will finish the Thibet history, if I have to go out there myself and get the honest information.” Whereat old Fraser feebly smiled and opened his heart to Alaric Hobbs at once. When a bustling country magistrate arrived to potter around, Andrew Fraser was astounded to see the General’s aid-de-camp lead out the man whom the two officers had guarded, and send him off to St. Heliers under a military guard. “Hold this man only as a suspicious person. There may be some mistake. They say he is known at Rozel Pier as an honest man,” said the aide. “The real robbers seem to have escaped in the boat. The dying robber did not seem to know this person, who has undoubtedly borne a good character for a month past at the Jersey Arms as a lodger.” It was true, and even the befuddled Simpson, on his questioning, only could falter that he had been attacked by three unknown footpads. He failed to make any charge against the mute Jack Blunt. “This man is a proper, decent fellow enough,” kindly testified the old soldier. In vain Andrew Fraser raved to the Magistrate, demanding that Major Hardwicke and Captain Murray should explain their past conduct. “I am directed by General Wragge to say that he will visit you, himself, officially, to-morrow, Professor Fraser, and he will have an important governmental communication for you. Until then, I desire these two gentlemen to be allowed to remain in your house. They will remove all their luggage this evening.” And then, old Fraser, with a presage of coming trouble, shivered in a sullen silence. Conscience smote him, sorely.